filler: Out of Action Short Filler, VS75
by Voyager Season 7.5
Summary: Due to budget cuts in the Borg research department, we found ourselves a little *short* this week


out.htmlDue to budget cuts in the Borg research department, we found ourselves a   
little *short* this week.  
  
  
OUT OF ACTION  
By Rocky  
  
  
The EMH had just settled himself into the chair in his office, PADD in hand,   
with the prospect of some uninterrupted leisure time giving him a decidedly   
pleasant anticipatory tingle. Lieutenant Torres might caution that this was an   
indication his algorithms were due for another Level 1 diagnostic; the Doctor   
(however much he might deplore such behavior in his own patients) had no qualms   
about deciding on his own that he was perfectly fine and that such feelings were   
entirely normal.  
  
"Cross-Gender Transformation and Pseudo-Chimeric Behavior in the Reproductive   
Cycle of the Moldabian Slime Sprog." He sighed in delight. Dr. Zimmerman had   
sent him the latest copy of the Journal of Xenobiology in the most recent data   
stream. It was a commentary on how busy he had been that only now, three days   
later, did he have the chance to sit down and savor the articles contained   
within. The Doctor cast another satisfied glance at the empty Sickbay and then   
began to read, his mind's eye seeing a different title and author name   
superimposed upon the PADD.  
  
His reading was all too soon interrupted when the door to Sickbay opened. He   
didn't move. Maybe whoever it was would just go away  
  
"Doctor." It came out as a moan.  
  
Inwardly the EMH cursed the timing. Just when he was getting to the good parts!   
"I'll be with you in just a moment, Mr. Neelix," he replied, not taking his eyes   
off the PADD.  
  
"Doctor!" The Talaxian's voice rose in intensity.  
  
"Oh, all right," the Doctor said testily and tossed his journal aside. Rising to   
his feet, he came around the corner of the office and into the main section of   
Sickbay. "What seems to be the--Great Galaxy, Mr. Neelix, what happened to   
*you*?"  
  
Neelix's face was creased into an expression of profound suffering. He was   
hunched over in a posture resembling that of a Klingon targ, one hand pressed to   
his lower back. "I seem to have strained something," he mumbled.  
  
"Well, that's obvious," the Doctor retorted. "Hop up on a biobed--never mind,"   
he added hastily. "Just hold still." He ran a diagnostic wand over the patient.   
"Sprain of the fourth erector spinae muscle, 0.5 cm tear to the left latisimus   
dorsi, severe bruising of the--Mr. Neelix, how did you incur these injuries?"  
  
"I was on the Holodeck."  
  
"Doing what? And why weren't the safeties on?"  
  
"They were." Neelix gingerly lifted his hand up and brushed down the sides of   
his whiskers. "I was preparing for the Voyager Olympics competition."  
  
"Doing what?" repeated the Doctor. He picked up a hypospray. "I'm giving you a   
combination antispasmodic and analgesic. After the swelling goes down a bit,   
I'll be able to use the regenerator."  
  
"Weight lifting."  
  
"Weight lifting?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How much weight?" asked the Doctor curiously.  
  
"Oh, not too much."  
  
"Really," the Doctor said, an edge in his voice.  
  
"Fifty kilograms." Neelix added, "To start out."  
  
The Doctor stopped what he was doing. "Mr. Neelix, have you ever lifted weights   
before?"  
  
"Noexcept for storage cylinders in the cargo bay," he said. "But based on my   
'dense musculature being suited for heavy lifting', as Seven once put it, I   
thought it wouldn't be too difficult."  
  
"Seven was talking about Talaxians assimilated into the Collective. They had   
Borg implants, not to mention nanoprobes to repair any damage incurred," the   
Doctor scolded. "Did it ever occur to you to begin with smaller amounts of   
weights?"  
  
"But Doctor," protested Neelix. "I was looking through the computer records of   
the Olympics on Earth. In the late twentieth century, there was a weight lifter   
they called 'the pocket Hercules'! He was so small, and yet he was able to   
lift---"  
  
What the athlete from 400 years ago had been able to accomplish would have to   
continue to remain a mystery, as the door to Sickbay opened again. In limped   
Harry Kim, dressed in exercise shorts and a T shirt, and cradling his right arm.   
"Doctor--"  
  
"And what happened to you, Mr. Kim?" asked the Doctor, his medical tricorder at   
the ready. He frowned when he saw the readings. "Another sports injury?"  
  
"Parisees Squares," Kim said. "I must have pivoted too sharply and cracked my   
elbow against the wall--"  
  
The Doctor waved his words away. "Climb onto a diagnostic bed--if you're   
capable--and I'll be with you shortly, as soon as I'm done attending to Mr.   
Neelix." The door to Sickbay opened again. "Ah, Mr. Paris, so good of you to   
stop by. As you can see, I'm quite busy here, so if you could take--"  
  
"Doc," interrupted Paris. "I didn't come by to help."  
  
"Then what--" The Doctor realized that the pilot's face was also contorted in   
pain and he was favoring his left leg. "Oh, no, not you, too?"  
  
Paris nodded, then winced at the sudden movement and smiled weakly. "You know   
what they say, Doc, 'no pain, no gain.'"  
  
The Doctor bit back an exasperated sigh. This was not at all how he had   
envisioned his afternoon shaping up. "All right, listen to me, all of you.   
Athletic competitions are all fine and good, but certain basic safety   
precautions must be observed. For starters, warming up properly and doing   
adequate stretching. For another, not pushing the body past its natural limits.   
Do I make myself clear?" He went to pick up some more hyposprays. "What's next?"   
he muttered to himself. "Perhaps Commander Tuvok will come in complaining of   
heat exhaustion, or Lieutenant Torres will come down with a bad case of   
swimmer's ear..."  
  
The door to Sickbay opened again. The Doctor froze, almost afraid to look.   
Chiding himself for his foolishness, he turned around. And gaped.  
  
Captain Janeway, dressed in sweats, was leading in an obviously suffering   
Commander Chakotay, whose hands were clamped firmly over his face. "Doctor,   
could we have some assistance over here?" she called. It was only then that   
Janeway noticed the other occupants of Sickbay. "What happened to all of you?"  
  
The Doctor attempted to remove the first officer's hands from his face so he   
could get a better look. "Commander?"  
  
Chakotay's hands fell away. And the Doctor gaped once more. The Commander's nose   
was streaming blood and a large bruise was rapidly forming around his eye.  
  
"She hit me in by dose."  
  
"The captain hit you?"  
  
Janeway nodded, obviously distraught. "We were trying out one of the new   
hand-to-hand combat routines." She added, defensively, "I thought with the   
Commander's boxing prowess that he'd be able to defend against a simple left   
hook."  
  
"Seems to me like you landed more than one blow, Captain," the EMH observed,   
going to work. "He's got a dislocated jaw as well."  
  
"I'm so sorry, Chakotay--"  
  
"It's all right. Just stop abologizing already," the commander mumbled.  
  
The Doctor rapidly finished treating Chakotay, then turned back and dealt with   
the rest of his patients. Within fifteen minutes all of their injuries, large   
and small, had been healed. As the officers turned to go, however, the EMH   
called out, "Not so fast!"  
  
"Excuse me, Doctor?" asked the captain.  
  
"Due to the severity of the injuries most of you have sustained, I'm afraid I   
can't permit you to go back on duty right away." He held up a hand to forestall   
their objections. "I'm sorry, chief medical officer's prerogative."  
  
"You mean--" began Paris.  
  
"That's right," finished the Doctor. "You're all out of action, till further   
notice."  
  
*^*^* 


End file.
